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The horse emitted steam and the clacking of hooves on the rocks was like a melody to Arthur ringing through the empty atmosphere. He didn’t get much time to himself, with Dutch’s promises and fool-proof plans, John’s naive behavior, and Micah’s constant berating, Arthur could never get a single moment to himself.
He took many trips with his horse. Simply traversing the different cities he had run through, was his only sense of getting away. His only escape. If he could get out, either by running an errand for the women or doing gang business, he went. He took advantage of every chance.
Maybe that’s why he was out in the negative weather, probably catching cold before he could even bundle himself in coats. His horse didn’t seem to mind though, she never did. Ever at Arthur’s side, she’d seen it all; however, Arthur didn’t know what was going on inside that horse’s head, if she was even thinking at all.
“Damn it’s cold.” he thought, his voice echoing through his head, wondering how he even ended up here at all. Of course, he decided to go for a ride to maybe find a deer to bring back to camp, but that wasn’t what he really meant.
When did he get so damn old? Where did all the years go? He’d been riding with Dutch for as long as he could remember, and his whole life has been this way. It’s all he had known, and probably will only ever know. This realization struck his heart.
He could never be like any of the intelligent people he met often, the scientists and researchers he did the dirty work for, for what? He didn’t gain much from it, maybe a good conscience, but that’s about it.
He thought about John. The naive child he had grown fond of all these years, even in the moments he despised his behavior. John’s disappearance after his son was born made everything so tense. He’d never admit it, but Arthur loved John; he was like his own younger brother, and maybe that’s why he expected so much from him.
Arthur then thought about Mary Linton, the high-strung woman from a class-less family who he was once sweet on. She was on an entirely different plane of existence than Arthur, and their relationship ended for that exact reason.
He went on and thought about the rest of the younger gang members. How he wished he could protect them, and how he wished he was as young as them again. His age was finally starting to catch up to him. He wasn’t that old, being only thirty-six, but he felt like he had lived the lives of one hundred fools.
Death was something on his mind everyday. Whether it be the death of a gang member (like young Jenny and Davey more recently), the next kill he has to make for the next robbery, or his own fate. It was something he had to accept at a young age; death is the one thing you have to think about when you decide to live this life.
He wondered how he would die, and many times tried to save himself from his imagination. Would it be a botched robbery? A lousy hunting trip gone bad? Or even the dealings from a double-crossing friend? He didn’t like not knowing, and the creeping feeling of dread spread throughout his body.
Looking up ahead, he could see a deer crossing to drink the ice cold water from the calm stream below it, and Arthur pulled on the reins of his horse to take a good look at it.
He quietly pulled out his journal and began to sketch the figure of the animal. This deer was different, it’s horns angled in such a way he had never seen before. It looked up and noticed him and his horse, but didn’t run. Instead, the deer looked at him gently and slowly trotted away.
Normally, Arthur would’ve drawn his bow and killed the deer for its meat to feed his ragtag family; however, this wasn’t a normal situation.
For some reason he felt tied to this deer. It was alone and it looked a bit sickly too, like it had been beaten and was just barely escaping a near death experience. It didn’t have much direction in its steps, seemingly just going wherever the stag's hooves could take it. There was something so somber about this deer, and he couldn’t get it out of his head for the ride back to camp.
His ride back was easy and gentle. No troubles or any disturbances, the only sounds he was hearing were the sounds of the horse’s hooves digging into the plush snow and its occasional grunts. His mind was at peace, for just this moment.
He remembered the Blackwater job. The dread came over him again. Dutch had left him in the dark over what had really happened down there, and all he could do was wonder. Javier had informed him of a few things, including Dutch’s cold-blooded murder. He didn't like thinking about it. They’ve made messes in the past, but they’ve always been able to clean it up. This time it didn't seem possible. They had spilled red wine on a brand new white shirt, and trying to clean it just made the stain blend into more of the white fabric.
Trying to erase the thoughts from his head, he thought of all the good times he’s had in his life, before the job that further stained the already sullied name of the Van Der Linde gang.
His younger days were spent with his aforementioned father figure, Dutch and the genius conman Hosea Matthews. He's been running with those two since he was fourteen; he saw people come and go, albeit most through death and not their own accord.
He recalls the late nights in the saloon with Dutch, the drunken words and the folk songs which had its lyrics butchered with their empty minds. He remembers having his first drink with Dutch; he could barely hold the whiskey down and made a face in disgust.
The fishing and hunting trips with Hosea. Him being awoken early in the morning because, “That's the best time to catch fish, Arthur!”. He looked back on the first time he ever caught a fish on his own. He was sixteen years old, and Hosea was so proud of him and gushed over him like a proud parent. He remembers being taught which shotgun shells to use for deer, and which bait to use for certain waters.
He thought of the time John was brought in by Dutch and Hosea. He was so young, being only twelve years old. Arthur was twenty-one (or was it twenty-two? He could never seem to remember.) when they met, and he was immediately bestowed the role of older brother to John. He loved, protected, and antagonized him like a brother would. John was so energetic at that time; but then again, so was Arthur.
Mary Linton, the woman he had fallen so madly in love with. He thought of how she broke his heart, and how he could never seem to peace it back together after their split. He remembers running around with her in town at night, causing mischief and continuously disappointing her father. Their moments of romance, the sweet kisses they shared, and their late night talks of their futures together.
His son. God, Arthur's son. The small boy named Isaac and the sweet waitress Eliza who was his mother. She didn’t know what to do when she realized she was pregnant, with Arthur’s son of all people. She was young, much younger than Arthur, and she knew he wouldn’t be as active in their lives but he did what he had to. When he came across their graves that day, he was in ruins for months. He tried to forget they existed, but when Mary had asked him about starting a family one night, he couldn’t help but think of those two while gazing into the cosmos.
He never liked to get melancholy about the past, but his memory was better than he wished it was and he couldn't help reminiscing. He couldn’t change anything, only able to move forward; Yet, he always seemed to make the same mistakes, like he never learned after all these years. He wished he was better. He wished he was someone else.
A chill went down his spine, and he sped up his horse's trot with a whip of the reins. He wanted to go home. Not the shabby camp in Colter, but home. He wanted to have a real home to go to. A warm bed to sleep in at night with thick blankets and plush pillows. He wanted a home. He couldn't do anything about that, though; He chose this life, and now he needs to live it. That's what he told himself.
Getting closer to camp, he let out a heavy sigh and watched his breath escape from his lips. He always wondered why and how that happened when the temperature was low, but he’d never know. He had more important things to think about, anyway.